Still Liking, Still Waiting

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew she had told him clearly: “I’m not interested, okay?”

But every time she posted a photo, he hovered. Every post, every story, every fleeting moment of her online life became a test he couldn’t resist. Likes. Comments. Emojis. Heart-eyes, clapping hands, whatever would make him feel seen.

It wasn’t about approval. At least, that’s what he told himself. It was about presence. Reminding her—subtly, insistently—that he existed. That he cared. That he was always there.

The first few times she called him out, he apologized. “Sorry, I just… like seeing you happy.” She rolled her eyes. She didn’t block him. She didn’t respond positively. Just a polite brush-off, a boundary he kept ignoring.

Every comment he wrote became a small act of hope. A digital breadcrumb. Maybe one day, she’d notice. Maybe one day, she’d pause, read his words, and feel the weight of his attention.

Weeks turned into months. His notifications pinged constantly. Every like of hers, every new story, triggered a rush he couldn’t fight. He knew he was sinking, but he convinced himself it was love.

Friends warned him. “Dude, you need to stop. She’s not going to feel differently.” He nodded. Pretended to understand. Then refreshed the page again, finger hovering over the comment box.

One night, scrolling through old posts, he realized something. She had never, not once, reacted to his long comments in a meaningful way. No likes. No replies. Just silence, polite or indifferent.

That was the moment he felt it—the truth he had been avoiding. He wasn’t being romantic. He wasn’t showing care. He was performing. He was hoping. He was clinging.

He didn’t comment that night. Didn’t like anything. Didn’t even check. And for the first time in months, he felt a hollow relief.

Some boundaries aren’t suggestions. Some “nos” aren’t invitations to try harder. And some people won’t ever see the devotion you build in front of them, no matter how loudly you show it—even if it’s only through small, glowing screens.

He didn’t know if he would ever stop completely. But he knew he had to try, before his presence online became the only presence he had at all.